The path led to a stream then immediately to the
orange scar that was dried mud with foot holes cut out of it. Not exactly
vertical but not far off, each step pushing us higher up the slope. It only
took fifteen minutes to reach the top of the visible scar and peer over the
camp that later will seem like a spec in the distance. The first obstacle
conquered, the path became slightly less vertical but more rocky and the
gravity started to feel heavy in the thighs and calves. It was fortunate that
Michael needed some help to keep going which helped also push myself on.
‘Come on Michael. Only ten metres more then there’s a
flat spot.’
‘I want to stop here, I’m tired, it’s too hard.’
‘Come on Michael’ came the encouraging voice of
Arturo, he and Liliana taking up the rear. Keep going, don’t stop yet, you can
do it.’
I kept up the encouragement from the front and we
managed to push Michael, and ourselves, to reach a good 100metres each stage
before stopping and catching out breath. The jungle closed in; towering wet
tropical rainforest, accustomed to being enshrined in low cloud, today reaching
up to a blue and sunny sky. The gnarly root systems entwined with the rocks,
threatening to twist and ankle at every step.
‘Ten metres more Michael.’
‘You told me that before, several times and I’m still
waiting for the flat spot!’
‘Just ahead Michael, just another 10 metres.’
The halfway mark was a large rock at the base of the
towering 300m bare rockface and we were told it was two hours to there and two
hours from there to the top.
In the last assault towards the rock I pulled
ahead of the rest of my small group, feeling a bit dragged down by Michael’s
pace and wanting to catch up with the stragglers from the rest of the group who
left a few minutes before us. I reached the rock and found Antoine and Nausicaa finishing their rest before continuing on. I waited six or seven minutes for
Michael and Arturo and by the time they arrived I was ready to move on. People
from another group and some of the porters also arrived so I knew there was
plenty of company for Michael, and I forged on. Downhill first for a bit
clambering down large rocks but on a well worn path that was easy to follow.
Soon ascending again, the rocky path hugged the immense cliff face above,
surrounded by thinner jungle and a hotter sun.
The path came to another peak then down again into a
small valley that led to the final assault. In the distance I could see tiny
figures at various spots on the shaley ascent, passing through the waterfall
that once seemed so distant, was now part of the path. I climbed down to the
base of the ascent and started the careful step by step climb over rocks that
were wet but not slippery, some loose and some solid, passing under the chilly
water of the misty waterfall and letting the fresh liquid wash away the sweat
and drench my shirt from the outside. It was all about focus, one step at a
time, pushing aside my fear of heights as I climbed ever upward towards the top
of the path, the top of the ramp, the top of Mt Roraima.
The last push, void of
trees, exposed to the hot sun, clambering over billion year old rocks, the body
and mind focused on one thing and one thing only…reaching the top; and suddenly
there it was!
The large black boulders and cliff edges with wind
weathered shapes like animal faces sitting teetering in impossible places
standing as sentinels to the plains now so far below.
Step by step the scene
below had fallen further away and now some three or four hundred metres below
was the second camp, a collective of dots, and stretching into the immense
distance was a small narrow winding path leading back to the little basecamp
village.
We could take time to enjoy the views from here as we waited for the
last of our group, all of us buoyed by the magnificent views surrounding us.
Once all together and having lots of photos we walked to our cave that was to
be home for the next two nights. A tall overhang facing the opposite direction
to the travel of the ever-changing weather was assured to keep us dry.
The half
hour walk took us through a new land, a black landscape peppered with small and
large ponds, little clumps of green each a micro garden of a dozen species of
ancient plants, insectivorous, ferns, basic daisies, lichens and mosses.
The
occasional tiny orchid in yellow, red or orange, each little patch a complete
world, a functioning ecosystem, a colony of codependent plants symbiotically
surviving this harsh, wet environment, probably unchanged for millions of
years.
The keen eye of Antoine picking up an ancient frog species that hadn't yet evolved enough to jump.
The black rocky outcrops, the moonscape, this was The Lost World made
famous by the book of the same name in the 1930s, inspired by what lay before our
eyes now.
As we arrived at the camp, in usual fashion we
tourists collapsed against the rock using our packs as cushions while Roman,
Selma and the porters carried over pots of water, started the large copper
kerosene burners and commenced the cooking duties.
A couple of others arrived
with the tents and started erecting them in the narrow sandy space in front of
the shelter, but the ground was not flat and with the thin mattresses several
sleepless nights were assured for most. Almost arrogantly I visualized my 7cm
mattress and new warm sleeping bag and dared not speak too loudly about how
comfortable I would be for two nights.
The cloud moved in quickly, driven from the northwest
and quickly enveloping the whole mountain top; the scene before our eyes,
everything beyond the immediate bushes was shrouded in mist. The temperature
dropped by a good five or six degrees and the wind chilled us as it pushed the
grey mass of water vapour rapidly across the ancient surface.
We suddenly had a
sense of the cold we were to expect during the night and this became the point
of discussion. After a while the temperature started to rise and as if by the
sweep of a magician’s cape, the cloud disappeared and the sun shone again, its white
and yellow rays glistening rainbows in the pools as it started sinking in the
west.
We all wandered off in various groups to discover more intimately the new
world that we had become part of, the old world that has stood unchanged
through a thousand generations of men, mountains that saw dinosaurs come and
go, stood silently as the Andes rose from the plains to the west, from a time when
Gondwanaland was still intact.
The meals had become a little more basic as the fresh
meat was used up but still we dined on stew and rice tonight with the guides
and porters not eating until we had finished our first and second helpings if
we desired. They started with a well received brew of hot chocolate. The dark
had descended and the warm jackets, beanies and thick socks appeared from the
packs. It was a tired group tonight after three days of physical exertion but
no one…well maybe one…looking forward to the thin mattresses and inadequately
rated sleeping bags on the undulating rocks in the evening chill. The expected
was realised as everyone the next morning was groaning about sore backs,
uncomfortable curves, dips and stones shaping the sleep of the bodies. I slept
well on my trusty Exped and actually became too hot during the night and had to
open my bag up to cool down. This is the bag I want for Patagonia!!
Our day consisted of a four hour walk around the
sights at this end of the plateau. The window and its adjacent rocks jutting
out into space over a seemingly bottomless cavern.
The cloud had different
ideas about our photo opportunities, moving in quickly to obscure latter
attempts.
Cliff edges, the so-called Jacuzzi, a string of jade-green coloured
pools where we swam; the crystal gardens and numerous other features.
We
covered some distance to see the changing landscape but the constant black
rock, small pools and bizarre wind-formed outcrops dominated.
It was a fun day
with three of the group opting for the much farther walk to the Triple Point,
where the countries of Argentina, Guyana and Brazil met at their lofty peak. We
had plenty of time just to look and take in the wonder of this place. Dinner
was an uninspiring rice with warm milk followed by another rough night for some
and a simple oatmeal breakfast, not an ideal preparation for the descent. Our
time here was up.
Despite the cloud moving in and out we had very little
rain and mostly clear views and as if scripted, before we started the descent
we were taken to another lookout point to see the majesty of the walls, the
distant undulating view shimmering under a perfectly blue sky.
We followed the
same path down. The lack of rain had dried up the misty waterfall and the loose
shaley stones were mostly dry. Although every step required utmost
concentration and there was no illusion about the difficulty of the descent,
this time we had gravity on our side.
The steep loose part was quickly covered
and the rocky path started as the narrow track found its way first into the
canopy and then into the thicker jungle. Motorcycle boots were not the best
option for this but it was more effective than my sandals and easier than
carrying them. If I brought them all this way I was going to wear them! However
another critical thing is to make sure your toenails are trimmed. Although not
long, I had a longish end to my left big toe nail and I remember the exact step
where my foot slid forward in my boot and pushed the nail hard into my toe.
This was gonna hurt!
The four hour ascent became a two hour descent and we
were back at second camp for lunch. Because it was faster we also had to complete
the nine kilometres back to the first camp. I took off my boot and my worst
suspicions were confirmed. My nail was already becoming black from the blood
underneath. I was going to lost the nail. The nine kilometres was agony as I
kicked the odd rock and slid my foot several times to the front of the boot
again, putting more pressure on the toe. The hot, troubled faces of the new
groups approaching second camp, left me with just a smile and a wave, knowing
that if today was hard for them, tomorrow would be another challenge. Slowly we picked
our way along the narrow rocky path, going ever down but at times steeper than
others and the forgotten ravines and small river crossings leaving a steep
uphill bank on the other side.
By 4pm the last of us struggled in, I was with Antoine
and Nausica and Michael. Michael was on the point of exhaustion, my toe and
general muscle soreness was getting the better of me and Antoine’s heels had a
nice collection of torn blisters.
We hobbled in to the cheers of the rest of
the group. A final meal and a final night in the tents, a large moon
illuminating Roraima, now deep in the distance and not looking so large, marked
the nearing of the end of the journey.
In bed soon after dark and up at first light,
I found myself a new walking partner from another group, Keiko from Japan, a
four-year travel veteran in her forty eighth country. We had a similar pace
and lots to talk about so we walked out the twelve kilometres together, before
farewelling at basecamp. She is heading north to Central America.
Our group all came in and soon after we bundled into
the two 4wds and were driven back to a little town in the Gran Sabana where I
had stopped for lunch a week ago.
We were delivered back to respective
accommodations and some of us met up for pizza and beers later that night. I
returned to my hostel just out of town, Los Pinos, and that was it. My
adventure to Roraima all but over. Severe muscle soreness and a throbbing toe
stark reminders every time I tried to walk.
